


The Proposition

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League: Crisis on Two Earths
Genre: Aggression, Antagonism, Canon-Typical Violence, Earth-3, Implied Relationships, M/M, Oral Sex, Other: See Story Notes, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Subterfuge, crime syndicate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4813337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a taste of what Dick has to offer. Hopefully, Slade takes the bait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proposition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FleetSparrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/gifts).



> Contains: rough sex, aggressive behavior, sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, implied: abusive relationships, past mentor/mentee relationship, what can be read as past dubious consent
> 
> Notes: So today is my beta bae Fleetsparrow's birthday (aaah!) and I wanted to write something for zir because Fleet is the BEST! This is actually a little teaser for something big and Earth-3/Crisis on Two Earths related that I'm writing for zir (well for both of us because Slade/Dick is also my weakness) that'll go out eventually once it's closer to finished. For now here's the important stuff: Dick's a double agent, Slade's hot and mean, and they're both right where they want each other.
> 
> And to my precious beta bae: *smooches your face* I hope you have a fantastic birthday!!

It doesn't seem right that Dick has his own room in the White House.

He'd had his own room in the cavernous darkness of Wayne Manor, but he'd never slept there for longer than a few nights before Thomas decided that he had better things for Dick to do with his nights than sleep. This room, done in dark blues and browns with a fireplace casting shadows across the ceiling, feels like something from _before_ —

Dick pauses, stopping just inside the room as Slade Wilson walks further inside as if he doesn't care that he's been shut up in a room with someone like Dick that has a higher bodycount to his name than most murderers.

Slade looks comfortable in Dick's new bedroom, surrounded by furniture that looks well-worn rather than barely touched the way that the furniture in the manor does. Without the Secret Service to follow him around, Dick feels as though Slade should look diminished in some way, smaller without the proof of his position looming behind him and scowling when Dick so much as blinks. But then, Slade is built like Thomas was – is – broad shouldered and powerful enough to make Dick seriously thankful that he'd never been sent up against the man.

"Slade, I –" Dick hesitates. How much emotion is too much? How much gratitude is suspicious? Dick licks his lips slowly as he watches Slade watch him hungrily, openly. Dick dips his head in a nod that he hopes looks more gracious than he feels. "Thank you."

Slade shakes his head, turning to face Dick.

"Don't thank me yet," he says, a faint smile settling on his mouth. It's not a particularly nice smile, not like the ones that Dick has seen Slade give his daughter Rose, but it's the best that Dick could hope for. "There's still the matter of what you're going to have to do for me."

When Slade takes a step forward in Dick's direction, his smile shifts into something more familiar. Hungry. Possessive. Smug. It's the kind of smile that Dick is used to seeing on Thomas' face or on Ultraman's right before he's unceremoniously shoved to his knees or pushed onto his back, but then Slade doesn't use his power like that.

Slade is a different kind of man from those two, Dick thinks to himself as he watches Slade stalk towards him with powerful muscles flexing. Where Thomas is cloying and almost insufferable with his presence and Ultraman couldn't define 'subtle' if you held a dictionary in front of him, Slade isn't obvious about his power. The man in front of him isn't the same man that stands and smiles at press conferences while he holds his daughter's hand.

But then, different doesn't mean better.

Or nicer.

It just means that Slade isn't going to be as easy to read.

Or as easy to manipulate.

Dick bites his lip hard enough that it stings and then sighs, long and low as Slade finally comes close enough to touch. This close, Dick swears that he can feel the heat of Slade's body through their clothes. When he inhales through his nose, he gets hit with the rich notes of the man's expensive cologne mixed with cigar smoke and then a hint of something else that has to be his own natural scent.

"What do you want?" Dick asks, voice wavering with desire.

He knows that he's missed the mark on tough with Slade's eye widens at the tone in his voice. Instead of coming across as if he wants to fight Slade, there's a distinctly breathy note in his voice that makes him sound like he wants to _fuck_ the man. And of course, Dick does. He's always been a literal sucker for power and Slade, the only person alive that has a chance of tearing the Syndicate to shreds and putting Thomas down like the dog he is, has that in spades.

It doesn't hurt though, that Slade is attractive outside of that power.

When Slade doesn't immediately answer Dick's question, Dick asks it again.

"Well? What do you want from me," he spits out, this time back on track with his emotions tamped down flat. He's tempered his voice and the shift of his stance to be challenging, disrespectful enough to make anyone feel like snapping. Dick's hands fly to his hips and he glares up at Slade. "I don’t have all day – _oh_!"

In a single moment, Slade completely validates the Syndicate's theories that he's been augmented in some way. The man moves faster than Dick can see, one heavy hand gripping Dick's jaw as his fingers press hard against a tender spot that makes pain ricochet through Dick's head as his head thunks against the door behind them.

Slade's smile doesn't change. It doesn't waver for a second as he grinds his fingers into Dick's jaw until the pain becomes all-consuming and Dick would be gasping if he could just _breathe_. It's no surprise that Dick's panting and half-hard by the time that Slade releases him.

It's a little bit of one that Slade is too. When Dick shifts he can feel Slade's cock nudging against his thigh and desire strikes him so hard that he almost forgets to pay attention to anything other than how badly he wants to do something about the erection pressing into his leg.

"You're going to work for me," Slade is saying when Dick finally manages to look up at him. He's still got one hand on Dick's skin, callused fingers rubbing at Dick's sore jaw until it almost stops hurting, and all Dick wants to do is turn his head and suck those fingers into his mouth.

_Fuck._

Dick shakes his head but that doesn't help to clear it of his less than proper thoughts about Slade. Fucking the man is one thing. Thomas' orders on that subject had been clear. But wanting it? Genuinely wanting Slade as something other than a cog in his revenge plot? That's not happening. It can't.

"As what," Dick says, scoffing and puffing himself up with more than enough bravado to cover up the way that Slade just makes him fumble. "I'm sure no one will care about your placing a former Syndicate member in your cabinet, but really, I'm not qualified for many jobs outside of paid assassin."

Dick wouldn't mind that. Not really. He's been killing for a living almost his entire life and by now he's beyond good at it. The only issue is that Dick doesn't want to start picking off members of the Syndicate. Not yet and certainly not for Slade.

Slade doesn't seem bothered by Dick's refusal.

"That's not what I have in mind for you," Slade says, his voice seeming deeper than usual. The hand that Slade has at the left side Dick's jaw moves to cup his face, thumb rubbing first at the skin of Dick's cheek and then his bottom lip.

Dick forces himself to laugh though the sudden grip of need tightening his throat. He's hard, so hard, and every breath he takes reminds him that he's pressed thigh-to-thigh with one of the most powerful men in the world and that this time, the power is in his hands. Dick shifts, barely managing not to moan at the friction that little motion gets him.

"Presidential lover, then?" Dick asks, one eyebrow arching up. "Or should that be 'chewtoy'?"

Obvious in his amusement and arousal at Dick's cheeky comment, Slade licks his lips. Then, he leans forward, lips fitting against Dick's own in a kiss that sends sparks skittering up Dick's spine. Slade kisses like he does everything else, with passion and patience. He figures Dick out in a heartbeat, going from a rough kiss to something softer that makes Dick moan and reach for him with trembling fingers.

Kissing Slade isn't like kissing any of the others. There's no forcefulness here, none of the push to submit or bare his throat that feels good at first but that quickly becomes repetitive. Slade kisses Dick slowly, taking his time to figure out what Dick likes the most and how he can use it to pull shaky moans and whimpers from Dick's throat.

And that's _just_ the kissing.

Dick can't imagine what it'll be like to have Slade fuck him. Well, that's not entirely true. He's perfectly capable of imagining, of fleshing out Slade's kisses and the casual way that he possesses Dick with just a few kisses.

There's a moment though where Slade looks unsure, uncertain. He looks Dick over in what's supposed to be a surreptitious way as if gauging his response and his desire.

Dick doesn't roll his eyes. He wants to, but he also wants to see what Slade has to offer and any obvious sign of disdain will probably destroy his chances. Instead, Dick settles for reaching out for Slade, curving his right hand against the back of Slade's head and hauling the other man into a kiss.

This kiss, the sort of kiss that Dick is used to getting and giving, is hard. Rough. Teeth clash for an instant before they figure out what works and their tongue slide slick together. It's a searching, hungry kiss that makes Dick groan and drive his cock harder and harder against Slade's tree trunk thick thighs until he feels like he's about to shoot in his pants.

Slade doesn't seem better off.

Slade's hands slide down to grip at Dick's ass, fingers pressing into skin until Dick moans into their kiss and _wrenches_ their mouths away.

"Fuck," Dick says, panting.

"Soon," Slade says, a smirk on his lips. "Tell me what you want. Tell me to fuck you."

Dick opens his mouth. Then he closes it.

"Actually –"

"Yes?" Slade says with impatience in his deep voice and one white eyebrow cocked.

Feeling reckless, Dick grins.

"Actually, Slade," he says as he hooks his fingers in the belt loops of the other man's trousers and pulls Slade in close, "There's something else that I want…" Dick trails off and then smiles at the way that Slade's hips thrust forward.

"And just _what_ could that be?" Slade asks.

Dick doesn't answer. He flips their positions though, backing Slade up against the heavy door and then dropping on his knees in front of him. The carpet absorbs much of the impact but not all of it and Dick grunts, savoring the faint pain as much as he does the arousal that makes his cock throb against the front of his pants.

On his knees in front of Slade, Dick feels powerful and powerless at the same time. He's all but staring at Slade's cock, at the bulge that tents out the older man's slacks and makes his mouth water. Without thinking, Dick reaches for Slade's zipper, undoing it with a flick of his fingers and then easing Slade's cock out into his hand.

"Oh," Dick murmurs.

"Like what you see?" Slade asks. He sounds smug again. Too smug.

The only appropriate response that Dick _can_ make is to open his mouth and suck Slade's cock down all the way to the root until he can't breathe, can't think, can barely stop himself from coming in his pants. Slade's groan, the noise echoing above his head, is gratifying in the best of ways. Dick bobs his head a couple times, fucking his throat until he can't stand it anymore.

Dick pulls off of Slade's cock, gasping for breath as Slade watches.

"Don't tell me that was too much for you, kid," Slade drawls. He doesn't even sound winded or anything at all like he's been on the receiving end of some serious deep throating. Slade smirks down at Dick and then cards his fingers through Dick's hair, pulling on it just hard enough to make Dick gasp and sway closer, his mouth already open again.

It takes Dick a moment to answer.

He licks his lips, licks the taste of Slade's cock and his precome away, and then rocks back on his heels. There's only a modicum of space between them, the sort of space that exists when you really want to keep touching a person and Dick swallows noisily, mind already returning to thoughts of how good Slade _tastes_ –

"You wish," Dick retorts, a sharp smile of his own settling on his face. His jaw is still sore, still achy, but it's all worth it for the way that Slade looks at him as if he wants to keep him. It's all part of the plan, Dick tells himself as he curves one hand around the hefty girth of Slade's cock. If Slade fucks him then Slade will trust him. And after that –

Dick is going to use every single connection that he has in order to wipe the Syndicate out.

Smiling, Dick pumps Slade's cock a few times and then leans in to slurp at a bead of semi-cloudy precome that wells up at the tip. When he pulls back, there's a thin line of saliva connecting them. The line hangs in midair for a moment before it breaks and gets Dick back to that headspace where he feels like whimpering or begging.

Instead of doing either, Dick licks his lips as he makes eye contact with Slade.

"You wish," Dick says. "I'm only just getting started."


End file.
